I lower the necklace back around my neck. “If you’re ready to go in.”

“I am,” he says as my fingers close around the metal door handle. “But I have to warn you that I haven’t spent a lot of time with kids before, so I have no clue what I’m doing.”

“You don’t have to spend time with him.” The screen door creaks as I open it. I’m unsure what to say or do. I mean, I’m letting him into my house for God’s sakes. Into my home where my son and I have lived and been protected from the outside world, and I’m both terrified and excited.

“No, I want to.” He follows me inside. And just like that, he’s in my home. “He’s a huge part of your life, right?”

“That he is,” I say quietly as I watch Mason bounce around the kitchen, singing the inappropriate song and dancing around the table, putting on a show for Nova and Quinton. “If you really want to impress him, you can play soccer with him. Jax and I have zero sports ability, so we’re useless.”

“I’m not too great either, but I can do my best,” he admits while looking at the collection of photos on my walls. Most are of Mason, but some I’m in, and Jax, too. A map of my new life, out in the open, for Tristan to see. I feel so vulnerable, like I’m standing in front of him, na**d and bearing my scars.

He squints at one photo in particular of me at the beach, striking a cheesy pose. “You look adorable in this one.”

“I look like a dork.” I signal for him to go into the kitchen. I can’t take the vulnerability any longer. “Now, come on. Let’s get this show on the road.”

***

Two hours later, the six of us are playing soccer outside in the backyard. Everyone is laughing, happy, bellies full of good food. Mason seems to adore everyone, including Tristan, who is a lot better with kids than I thought he’d be. All three of them are, really. Even though their time in my life will be brief, I learned through the experience that living a lonely life is unfulfilling.

And right now, I feel… full.

And guilty.

Worried.

Happy.

Confused.

Sad.

Between people being here for my birthday, the call from Taylor, and life in general, I’m verging on an emotional overload.

“So, not so bad, right?” Jax asks as he jogs up to me on the grass, panting from all the running around.

I shrug as I watch Tristan kick the ball to Mason who then punts it to Nova. “I think he might have a crush on Nova,” I remark, amused when Mason winks at her. “Five years old, and he’s already a flirt. God, I’m going to have my hands full when he becomes a teenager.”

“You already do, don’t you?” Jax asks as he glances at everyone. “But in a good way, right?”

“Yeah, I think so.” I stare at Tristan as he runs around, celebrating with Mason over a point he scored. Then I straighten my shoulders and focus all of my attention on Jax because there’s something I need to say. “I think you should stop watching Mason so much,” I announce.

He winces like I’ve kicked him in the face. “What?”

“I don’t mean that in a bad way,” I hastily add. “I’m just starting to realize how much you probably need your own life.”

“Avery, I’m happy to help out,” he swears. “You’re letting me live with you for crying out loud. It’s the least I can do.”

“And I’m fine with you helping out, but not so much. You need your own life, too.”

“But you can’t afford daycare,” he presses. “You need me to help you.”

“I’ll figure something out.” I smile optimistically, even though I’m uncertain how I’m going to back up my promise. However, I vowed to myself I’ll find a way somehow. It’s time.

Before he can argue anymore, I step away from him and toward the wooden deck decorated with cheap patio furniture. “I’m going to go set the ice cream out so it can thaw, and then we can have cake.” I slip inside the house and wander over to the freezer, humming under my breath as I dig around for the three different ice cream flavors we picked up at the store. As I’m reaching for the cookie flavored one at the back, the back door slides open.

“I’m not going to argue with you, Jax,” I say, elbow deep in freezer food. “Things are going to change whether you like it or not.”

“That’s really great, but I’m not Jax,” Tristan says, causing me to jerk back and drop the two tubs of ice cream I had in my arms.

I whirl around then press back against the fridge when I note how little room Tristan has left between our bodies. “Sorry, I thought you were my brother.”

“Yeah, I got that when you called me Jax.” His cheeks are tinted pink from the sun, his blond hair unruffled, and he smells manly, like cologne and sweat. “You want me to pass along the message to him?”

Shaking my head, I bend down to scoop up the tub of ice cream. “No. I just thought he followed me to argue about something.”

Tristan crouches down to pick up the tub by his feet. “About things changing?”

I nod then straighten my legs and stand up. “Yeah, I was lecturing him that I was going to make him watch Mason less.” I set the ice cream down on the counter then shut the freezer door.

“That’s an interesting lecture.” He puts the tub of ice cream next to the one I just set down.

I shrug then hoist myself up onto the counter of the kitchen, slipping off my flip-flops and letting my legs dangle over the edge. “He watches him all the time, and he doesn’t seem to mind. Yet he informed me today that he goes out on dates whenever he can, and it made me realize he doesn’t have a lot of free time.”

Tristan relaxes back against the fridge and studies me as he folds his arms. “Do you mind if I ask you why he lives with you? Is it for his help?”

I waver, determining what to tell him, then decide to go with the truth. “Remember how I told you my mom was a druggie? Well, I always felt bad after I got married and left Jax behind to live with her. The stuff she did… and the house… It was really bad. I finally came to my senses after I divorced Conner and got him out of there. But I still feel terrible that he had to live in such a shitty place… Some of the stuff we saw”—I shudder—“it was bad.”

“I can imagine,” Tristan says, swallowing hard. “I’m sure some of my old homes were equally as bad.”

“Yeah, but you weren’t a parent,” I remind him then add, “And neither was my mom really, yet she kept having kids.”

“How many brothers and sisters do you have?”

My insides wind into tight knots as I think about the call from Taylor this morning. “I have no idea. Jax was the last one born but occasionally when my mother would get really high she’d talk about other children she had before Jax and I… not sure what happened to them though. My guess is that they’re with their fathers or were taken away.”

“Avery, that’s terrible.” He looks horrified, cut deep, like I struck a nerve.

“Yeah it is, but at one point, I wasn’t any better.” I trace my finger over the letters inked on my collarbone. “I did a lot of stupid shit and almost followed in her footsteps.”

“But you’re fine now,” he says, moving toward me.

“I do my best.” I blow out a loud, cringe-worthy breath. “But enough about me. What about you?”

He stops just inches away from me. “What about me?”

“Any brothers or sisters?”

His skin pales. “I used to have a sister.”

“Oh, my God, I’m so sorry,” I say, feeling like an idiot. “I would have never brought it up if I’d known.”

“It’s okay,” he reassures me. “She died in a car accident when I was seventeen.” His gaze flicks to the window. “Quinton was actually driving.”

“What?” I whisper in shock. Quinton was responsible for an accident that killed someone? “Quinton is your cousin, right? I think I remember Nova mentioning that the first time we met.”

“Yeah. And the car accident was just that—an accident.” His eyes lands back on me. “He was sober and everything, just in the wrong place at the wrong time.”

“But you’re friends now?”

“Yeah, we’ve been through some tough shit together.”

“And you forgave him?” I’m baffled and completely intrigued by the idea—intrigued by Tristan.

“It was an accident,” he states again with a modest shrug. “And what good would it have done for me to stay mad at him? Trust me, he paid his penance.”

His words remind me of my own penance, something I’m not sure I’ve paid for yet, since I’m not sure I’m really helping anyone. What am I doing exactly?

“Jeez, you’re like a good person.” I eye him over, feeling as though I’m seeing him for the first time. “Most people wouldn’t forgive like that.”

“My parents didn’t—still don’t. And maybe that’s why I did forgive him so easily, because I saw what their hatred did to them.” He shakes his head then places his hands on the counter, one on each side of me near my hips. It’s not a movement to get close to me, though, more to hold himself up. “My mom’s practically lost her mind over it and hates me for forgiving him.”

“I’m sure she doesn’t hate you.”

“Well, she doesn’t like me.”

“Neither does mine,” I say sadly. “She wasn’t a very good person.”

“It’s hard to believe the woman who brought you into the word could be a bad person.” His lips quirk.

And just like that, the mood shifts. It happens so rapidly, as if we can’t remain depressed for too long when we’re around each other.

“Aw, and Pretty Boy is back.” I grin at him.

“I guess you bring it out in me.” When he smiles at me, I feel all squishy inside that I put the happiness on his face.

“Speaking of which…” He pushes back, and I frown at the distance between us. He rounds the counter, going to the sink and opening the cupboard below, then he crouches down to read the note scrawled on the wood.

“I used to fall asleep reading it,” I admit. When he peers up at me in astonishment, I shyly add, “It reminds me of that night you stepped in when Conner tried to hit me.” I hop off the counter and amble over to him. “I don’t get to feel safe a lot.”

He stares up at me in bewilderment. “So you thought about me a lot while I was gone for those three months?”

I nod, feeling anxious and jittery, though not in a negative manner. In fact, if anything, it makes me feel alive, like I’m finally breathing for the first time in years. “Did you think about me at all?”

He hesitates and then nods. “Every day… all the damn time.”

We stare at each other, breathing ravenously. Then he slowly places a hand on each of my legs, his fingers splaying across my flesh just above my knees. As he stands up, his palms glide up my legs and all the way up my dress, slipping just under the hem and resting near my ass, the entire time his eyes never wavering from me.

It’s been ages since I’ve allowed someone to touch me like this. The last time it happened, I forced my soul to die so I wouldn’t have to feel what was happening to me. What I did.

This time, I feel it, though.

Good God, do I feel it.

A deep, throbbing heat coils up my legs and between my thighs. I bite down on my lip hard as I concentrate on breathing. I have to angle my head to look up into his hungry eyes and he looks down at me, urging me closer as he shuts his eyes, ready to kiss me. My lips part, ready for the kiss. Maybe more ready than I should be.

Then I hear Mason laughing from outside, and it reminds me of my life. I pull back, worried Mason will run inside and catch me kissing my “friend,” which is who I told him Tristan is when I introduced him.

“Wait,” I breathe out with confliction.

Tristan’s eyelids lift open, self-doubt written all over his face as he withdraws his hands from beneath my dress.

I start to panic.

Get confused.

What to do?

Hide behind my walls again?

Go back to being lonely?

Before I can sink too deep into my worries, I lace my fingers through his and make a choice as I guide him across the kitchen, telling myself I can have one f**king day to enjoy myself. It’s my birthday and I’m so tired.

Tired of fighting what I want.

“Not out here,” I say in a raspy voice.

My heartbeat is erratic as I lead him down the hallway, figuring out where to go. The bedroom seems too intimate and the closet seems too weird. The only choice left is the bathroom, which isn’t ideal but is better than the last option, which is to not go through with this.

I pull Tristan inside and kick the door behind us, relieved to see that the bathroom is somewhat cleaned up. “I don’t want Mason seeing us kissing or anything… I don’t think he’s ready for that.” I slump against the door, biting my lip when his gaze drifts to my heaving chest. “I’m not sure I’m ready for that, either.”

His eyes trail up my neckline, to my lips, finally coming to rest on my eyes. Hunger burns in his expression. He grips the counter to the side of him, like he’s afraid he’s going to fall.

“Ready for what?” he asks huskily, causing my stomach to flutter.

“For anyone to see me kissing you,” I admit, grasping the doorknob to hold myself up.